Symphonies of a Falling Fighter
by selenicsoulmates
Summary: "I am Avatar Korra, and I am a fighter. I fight until my hands are hot coals and my lungs melt like burning candle wicks. I fight until I can't fight anymore. I am a fighter, but that doesn't mean I always win." book 3 based, with a little Makorra.


**Another birthday gift for a friend on tumblr! I wanted Makorra but this just turned into a load of Korra feels with Makorra in the end. Hopefully you all like it. But mainly Jen. As long as she likes it I don't really care. Though, I admit...reviews and favorites sure are nice...**

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Through thick and thin, over circumstances both cruel and consoling, Korra is a fighter.

It is not little-known, and it is not underestimated, even though she herself questions it at times. Especially now, as certain situations become problematic because of her choices. Unnerving are people to change, but she is too.

The rebels grow and pandemonium begins to brew and Korra is stuck in a black hole of unanswered questions that she is now forced to face practically alone.

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Tenzin is supportive.

Hands on her shoulders, advice passed down from his father (as if it's some sort of comfort, to hear something Aang might say. She, however, doesn't mention that she hadn't gotten to interact with Aang much after he restored her bending, if at all), the entire ordeal.

But Korra's noticed that Tenzin isn't the same mentor as he was before.

He isn't living under her past life's shadow, but his own. And that in and of itself provides more support than a conversation with Aang that would soon turn to dust anyway.

She likes that he's loosened some, and he's willing to teach her things he kept at bay before. She enjoys his newfound lessons.

Well…she doesn't like the glider, actually.

She kinda hates it.

"How does this thing open anyway?" She twisting it in her palm and manages to bang it backwards against the stone pillars of the pavilion. Korra ignores Tenzin's momentary lapse of control as his face turns red and he reaches for the stick, to save it from this girl's absolutely dangerous hands because _Spirits, Korra you're going to break that artifact please -!_

Korra gives it a shake to the right and the glider pops open, the edge of the wing slapping her next to her eye, and she reigns back and scowls.

The stupid thing wanted to play _dirty, _huh? Well, then she was just gonna –

Tenzin grabbed the glider and held it next to his own, blinking down at the young Avatar. She pouts momentarily before exhaling dramatically and rolling her eyes; the stick can win…this round, at least.

She points at the tool haphazardly, "So this'll make me fly, right?"

"Glide," he corrects, and hands the stick back to her. "You flow through the air using airbending. It's complicated, Korra, and I want you to be patient with it. You must be precise in your movements and center your balance in both yourself and your bending in order to keep airborne."

"Great," she looks down at the open glider and frowns. "Now I can glide over all those protests."

Tenzin offers a supportive glance, and then places his hands on her shoulders. "Those protestors aren't okay with your decisions, not because you're wrong, but because they are not okay with the sudden change."

Korra sighs, "I can't please everybody, as much as I'd like to. I'm _trying_, okay? I'm fighting for_everyone_…"

Tenzin breathes, and she feels the weight he holds on his shoulders double on her own. Then, she realizes that perhaps she and him aren't so different after all. They hold up too much until their legs shake and they fight to prevent themselves from caving in. He's an airbender, fluid and calm, but he's a fighter, just like she is.

"I can't promise simplicity, Korra," he offers. "But I can tell you this: change comes only to those who accept it. That means you and I as well."

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Jinora is helpful.

She's glad for it too, because who would have thought that the little eleven year old who enjoyed reading romance novels happened to be the reason Korra was still here in the first place? A savior of light from darkness and someone who was able to connect to things Korra herself found beyond comprehension.

She likes how they're opposites (feels secure about it, actually. She's gradually come to fall back on her opposites), and she likes how they stick by each other, especially now, as war comes once again.

And while she's calmed down a bit, Korra still wants to fight back. She wants so badly to fight against the people who look down on her, but especially the ones who target her own friends. Korra wants peace and understanding _for once, _because wartime has taken too much time away; it's left too many scars and wounds on too many people.

But Jinora offers a sense of hope Korra thought was too fickle to ever find again.

"Jinora?" She asks when meditation isn't quite doing it today and all she wants to do is watch the waves hit the shore and how many shells disappear underneath the foam: so close and yet so hard to find.

The young girl hums in acknowledgement, her eyes remaining closed. Korra almost snorts, but decides against it. Because there's so much else she wants to voice.

She wants to say renditions of 'thank you': thank you for saving me, thank you for helping me in the spirit world, thank you for helping me now. She wants to ask her what she thinks of the rebellions. What she thinks about the new spirits roaming around the city. What she thinks about how she handled everything a few weeks ago. Or maybe just apologize for losing her.

Instead, she decides on, "Are we done?" with a quick smirk responding to one opened, slightly amused brown eye.

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Asami is comforting.

At first, Korra is put-off by it; adamant in a nature surrounded by pugnacious attitudes and hostility and fast-paced livelihoods. That's why when Asami asks her if she's interested in training with her, she's both surprised and pleased. She knows Asami can fight, and lately, that's all she wants to do. Fight, fight, fight.

But Korra is no longer fluid. Her moves are jerky and quick, lacking proper form. As if each blow she throws out is preventing anything being thrown back at her. She punches and punches and dark snow flashes before her eyes, so she punches harder. She sees fire and fallen buildings and a life turning to dust, and she punches each thought away as her muscles ripple and throb and it even starts to burn in all the wrong ways. She hates it.

She keeps going even as Asami stops her own workout to make her way over to her. When the heiress' hand reaches her shoulder in calming reassurance, she tenses, teeth unconsciously beginning to rip into her bottom lip until it turns pale. Asami notices, but she doesn't relent. Instead, she gives her muscles a reassuring squeeze and offers a soft smile. It's not a sign to stop, but a gesture of calming, of understanding. _You're punching your fears away_.

A silent conversation follows, one Korra can comprehend.

_Do you wanna keep going?_

Blue eyes lit up with just a tiny flicker of life. Small, yet alive.

_Hell yeah._

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Bolin is sympathetic.

She's come to realize Bolin has a knack of raising the moods of the downhearted, but lacks the ability of understanding why the mood is as it is. He is best when everything else is at its best. And that's okay, because perhaps what Korra needs is just to forget about it, and just smile and laugh, because it's been such a difficult feat to accomplish lately.

Just when she needs that most, nursing a bowl of noodles in an Earth Kingdom shop nearby, Bolin decides to play the reality card.

"I mean, things'll come around, right? People are mad now, but they'll come around!" He's high spirited and heartening but to Korra, it seems like he's trying to convince not just her, but him as well.

Which isn't exactly shocking, considering the new bruise adorned on his skull, and the terrifying view of his brother being slammed into a brick wall from a sharp boulder (she still can't breathe in a proper dose of oxygen and still feels her blood pressure spike when she sees his gashes). He's terrified; they all are. And they need some sort of encouragement and Korra honestly has none to offer.

She chuckles halfheartedly, twining her chopsticks in her untouched food. "I don't know Bolin…"

"Well, they have to!" He decides. He thrusts his chopsticks out to her in emphasis, "You're the Avatar, after all."

Yes, she is. And an Avatar who's run around city after city trying to please everyone only to be practically mauled by people who don't agree with her decisions. And maybe it's not so much an 'Avatar' problem as a 'Korra' problem. A Korra problem that receives no conscious support from past lives she was only just beginning to understand. A Korra problem where her mission is seemingly leading to chaos all around the world, and she feels absolutely powerless in her fights to stop it.

"Yeah…" she trails off, he chin resting against her elevated palm. "I'm the Avatar…"

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Mako is…well, she fell in love with him because of his will and drive in the first place. When she fights, Mako fights back. It's an awful, frustrating collision of uncontrollable fires, and Korra's absolutely, irretrievably addicted to it. She wonders if she'll ever not be.

So what exactly Mako is now, she isn't sure.

He was always helpful, though she never attested him to be at first. His sympathy for her arose from his own hollow life, and he ensured that she wouldn't feel the pain he had for ten years. He offered support and comfort all in one package of compassion she wishes she could steal just for a few moments. Ignore the world and even their own despair caused by each other and just be Mako and Korra.

After today's events, she needs it.

Mako's scar reopened and he gained another from the claw of a spirit who was aiming for another rebel, and they both still drip blood with every slight bit of movement he makes. Korra has her own, too, but she ignores them (healing herself when Mako refuses to accept any bit of help from her now feels too erroneous, and she stopped when the water only began to glow against a burn).

He's outside under the glow of the setting Earth Kingdom sun when she finds him. She's cautious, and a part of her wishes that their roles could flip (and maybe he could stop avoiding her even though she's sorta doing the same and spirits, will they ever know what to do in poor situations?), and another tells her to turn back around inside and plot a bit about how to deal with the current status in the Kingdom.

But the fight in her tells her to keep walking, place herself next to him and talk, so she does just that.

"Hey."

He doesn't look at her at first. "Hey."

That's okay, though, because if she were being honest, she doesn't know what she'd do if he looked at her right now. "How're your wounds?"

"Fine," he replies shortly.

"Do you still not want me to heal them?"

"I'm fine," he repeats. Korra sighs in response.

And maybe it's an accumulation of things, and maybe she's repeating her mistakes and letting frustration build and build until it lashes out in relentless bursts of uncontrollable rage she only wishes she could tuck back safely into her pockets, but she's mad now.

Because he's not_ fighting_ and she wants him to _fight_.

"No you're not."

She hears him suckle in an exasperated breath, but she cuts him off. "You're all beat up and you absolutely refuse to be healed so you just _sit in your own blood _and _sulk_ all day."

He finally turns his head to meet her and hardened glares bore into each other's skulls, shaking the foundation. Korra internally shakes away the shiver that runs down the base of her spine at the memories flooding her system.

"You're really trying to pick a fight, huh," he concludes after a moment.

"At least I'm initiating something," she retorts, and she scowls further because she _always_initiates something. "You won't even look at me most of the time!"

His frown deepens and their stares stick long enough that Korra almost reads something behind amber eyes. She almost sees hurt and pain, but it's clouded over in true Mako fashion, and he ends their connection to stare straight ahead.

"Shouldn't we just be worrying about the rebellions?"

"I'm sick and tired of worrying about the rebellions," she finally says. And it feels good to say, too. She's tired of people throwing her decisions in her face and calling her a bad Avatar because of it. She's tired of the complaints and the bombings and the battles. She's tired of losing fights. So maybe, just maybe, Mako'll let her win one. "Tell me why you keep avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you."

"Then why is it that you haven't talked to me since we've gotten here?" She asks. "Or why you won't even look at me? Or how you're basically taking back what you told me back in the South Pole?"

He seems pleasantly insulted when he fully turns to her this time, forcing her to raise her chin just to look at him. "I haven't done anything to take that back."

"You haven't done anything to prove it."

"And you have?"

Before she can come up with a resolute response, she watches him throw his arms into the air in childish abandon. She's stricken nerves and she's fighting and Mako's just about had it.

"Why is our relationship even the topic of discussion?" he questions. "We're here to deal with the Earth Queen and the riots and you've decided to throw this at me now?"

"It isn't exactly something we've tucked under the rug." She crosses her arms. "And don't blame it on me!"

"I'm not –" he catches his cheek between his tongue and bites down. He's working on being cool under fire again, and he knows his footing on that shakes whenever she's around. But she's too hot, throwing scorching flames his way and it's getting harder and harder to dodge her. "What is this really about?"

She flinches. "What?"

"Why are you doing this? Why is this whole thing blowing up?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because this is more than just another fight to you. This is an escape route," he answers. And he knows he's right, especially with how the girl's shoulders tense and she glowers at the patching in his coat.

She uncrosses her arms and digs her nails into her palms until moons form under the shapes of her fingers. "No."

"It is, and you're fighting to keep it bottled up. The rebellions are bothering you, so just say it."

"It's not all about the rebellions, Mako!" she shouts.

"Then _why –_"

"I feel like a failure because of all this!" she chokes out. "I wanted to bring peace and balance and everything's a mess. I feel like I can't do anything right, and that all I'm doing is causing suffering."

Mako grips the edges of his hair with hindrance. "Don't say that."

"It's true, I know it."

He tries to bypass the frustration pooling in her eyes, and the misty wake it begins to leave. "It's not."

"Then talk to me! Throw your opinion at me. Help me. Spirits, give me _something_!"

"Why?" he sulks, angrily looking off to the side. "You don't listen to what I say anyway."

"Please, Mako. I've listened. And I'll listen now," she states.

His glare hardens when he looks back at her. "Fine. You want my opinion on this? Stop basing every rebel as a loss. Before you're the Avatar, you're a human being. And you fight harder than anyone, but that doesn't mean you're going to win in everything you do. Humans face suffering and loss, but that's just how humanity is. It's cruel, okay?" his voice softens and Korra almost wants to shatter walls and break the remaining barrios because he's so close, they're so close. And they're a mess of emotions and complications, but all she really wants is for him to keep talking and supporting her and maybe place his hands on her cheeks and reel her in, no matter how much it might hurt. "Pease stop thinking you're a failure just because people can't handle this. The world's changing and people are scared. _I'm _scared. I –"

The words catch on his tongue because he knows it's too soon to say them, but Korra looks at him as if they already slipped out of his mouth. Her face is a mixture of fear and adoration and surprise that probably mirror his own and it's too much to fight off, especially now. So he reaches, ever so slightly, for her wrist in quiet reassurance, and she unconsciously stretches toward his. Their fingers are a brush away, flames tickling the edges of calloused skin and rising up their arms.

He stops suddenly, tensing as his eyes dart to the side, listening. And then, he jumps in front of her in a sudden attack mode and a battle starts before she was even aware of their conversation ending.

He punches his arm outward, a large blast of red flames flying from his fists make contact with a flying boulder headed straight for the two of them. The stone shatters into fragments that scatter along with the dust that spreads past their feet.

She whips her head toward the direction the rock came from to see about a dozen benders angrily running toward them, just as Mako makes note of the obvious.

"We're being ambushed by the same rebels as before," He raises both his fists and stances himself before sending a burst of flames at the frontline of the attack. Korra soon jumps in front of him to deal with the ambush head on, and he follows behind her.

A few stones fly straight toward her head until she raises a block of rock directly in the line of fire, only to send it back to the benders running toward them. Three are hit, but the rest jump and dodge until Korra's close enough to see the angry glints shining in their eyes.

Korra flings another to the right over the stone wall with a wave of airbending, more aggressive than anyone would take, but she isn't exactly in a peaceful, defensive sort of manor. She's angry; she's angry because benders are unhappy with her decisions and want to fight her for their own. She's angry because even after ten thousand years, spirits and people can't seem to live in peace. She's angry because people can't change. She's angry because now all she wants to do is fight, but it's never ending battles and no one ever seems to come out victorious.

But still, she punches flames to match the ones that are ignited next to her out into their attackers and maybe, fighting is all they are supposed to do.

She's blazing with adrenaline, unstoppable forces of elements under the mere control of her fingertips. She's fighting back, the roar of the battle echoing in her ears. And then a ringing, something not from a chime but a strong, towering bell, calls out her name in sheer anguish. She slips up momentarily at the sound of his voice, and before she knows it, she's forced back into the hard surface behind her by a blast of stone, and the colors flash behind her eyes.

From molten red, to black darkness, and then to blaring, loud white.

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_I am Avatar Korra, and I am a fighter. I fight until my hands are hot coals and my lungs melt like burning candle wicks. I fight until I can't fight anymore. I am a fighter, but that doesn't mean I always win._


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